Суваг урсаад л байна

The old canal runs along the edge of the town, and the water lies flat and brown. A narrow lane follows the water towards the harbour. Litter has gathered under the iron bridge. Half the shops in the district are shut, and the county paper calls the place tired.

Nick stands at the bridge with his hood up. “Nothing happens here any more,” he says. He points at a homeless man asleep in a doorway. “Did you see the shop on the corner?”

Gran walks up the lane with her stick and stops beside him. “I do like this town.” She turns towards the water. “You do not notice things, Nick.” Gran puts her hand on the rail. “You only count what has gone.”

She taps the stone monument by the lock with her stick. “They did clean this in May.” She does know every door along this row, and she counts them as she walks. Sara looks at the doors too. Every inhabitant of the row has hung a small flag.

Mr Bell comes down from the suburb above the harbour with a bag of shopping. He stops by the rail. “The urban planners did write to me about the water.”

Mr Bell laughs at Nick. “I did think the town was finished.” Sara pulls a crisp packet out of the water and drops it in the bin. Nick shrugs at her. “One bag is not a town, but it does help.”

Gran smiles at him. “You do see it now, and that is all I wanted.” The water moves under the iron bridge, and the light comes back along the brown surface.